


The Turn of a Key

by BritinManor



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Anti-Michael, Could Be Canon, Jealousy, M/M, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-18 18:20:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20643587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BritinManor/pseuds/BritinManor
Summary: Using his emergency key, Michael barges into the loft, which leads to tragic results.





	The Turn of a Key

**Author's Note:**

> Plot Bunny: By the Queen of Plots - Deb Tanner. I hope you like it!
> 
> Beta: Thank you to my dear friend Karynn - eureka1. I know you weren't feeling well, so this means a lot to me!
> 
> Credit for the gorgeous banner goes to Estelle - Lacrichan. Thank You!
> 
> DISCLAIMER: QAF and its characters are the sole property of Showtime and Cowlip Productions. This work is done purely for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement is intended.

"What the hell do you think you’re doing? I always told Brian you were a slut!” I scream at the blond who’s fucking a trick over the nearest arm of the sofa. “Get off of him, grab your shit, and get the fuck out of here before Brian comes home and sees you!” My blood is boiling. Not only has the little whore duped Brian into keeping him around as a backup fuck, but the blond also attracts tricks like bees to honey - neither of which I’ve ever managed to do.

“Christ, I told Brian a long time ago he should have left you lying there... This is what he gets for having a no-good hussy in his life. How much are you charging these days?" I roughly grab Justin, tug him away from the guy he’s fucking, and then shove him to the side. "And you…” - I turn to the trick - “whoever the hell you are, get your shit and get out of here! I ought to call the cops on you!" Noticing a pair of jeans on the floor, I snatch them up and angrily throw them at him. I follow that with a slip-on loafer that hits him in the head. Not expecting to have a missile fired at him, he’s unable to catch it. I don’t give him a chance to find his other shoe before I start pushing him towards the door.

Once he’s in the hallway, I slam the heavy door shut and lock it, ignoring the banging from the other side. I don’t give a shit about the shouted complaints of, “What the fuck? Where’s the rest of my clothes?” 

I turn around to berate Justin, only I don't see him. The chickenshit is probably packing his garbage; well, he’d better be if he knows what's good for him. He’d better be gone before Brian comes home, because Brian is going to get an earful about how the little slut let himself in here and was using the loft to fuck a trick.

Just as I'm headed for the couch to sit down and wait for Brian, the object of my desire walks out of the bathroom in all of his glory, dripping wet, a towel slung low around his hips. I swipe at my chin, worried that I’m drooling. Brian has that effect on me.

Stopping short when he catches sight of me, he bombards me with questions. "Mikey, what are you doing here? When did you get here? Where's Justin?"

Before I can start in on my rant about the _Boy Wonder_, I hear Brian give a strangled cry. I follow his gaze and see Justin lying on the floor, blood pooling beneath his head, a couple of drops of blood falling from the edge of the chrome and glass Mies van der Rohe coffee table while I watch. 

When he runs over to Justin, whipping off the towel, wadding it up, and pressing it against Justin’s head wound, my eyes zero in on Brian’s groin. It’s a struggle to focus, but I force myself to mentally review everything that happened after I entered the loft. I freeze when my mind catches up to me forcefully pushing Justin away from the trick. Did I really push the little blond trollop that hard? _Shit. Fuck. Shit._ I can almost see the smoke coming out of my ears as I frantically scramble around for a plausible cover story.

"Mikey, MIKEY... do you hear me? I said call 911... NOW! Christ, what's wrong with you?" Brian yells at me.

Shaking my head in an effort to clear my mind, I pull out my cell phone and make the call. I don’t say much, just that there’s an unconscious man with a head wound at this address. The dispatcher is still trying to obtain more information when I hang up.

Brian takes off where the dispatcher left off, shouting at me again and demanding to know what happened.

"I... I don't know Brian,” I stutter. “I don't know for sure. I came in, and this guy and Justin were arguing. Then he shoved him, picked up his clothes, and stormed out. He didn’t say anything to me."

"Grab some towels from the kitchen and get over here and help staunch the blood, so I can get dressed before the ambulance arrives. Then call the police and have them meet me at the hospital. I'm not sure what happened between Justin and Quinton, but he will _not_ get away with this!"

"Quin... Quinton? You know the guy? How would you know the guy Justin was fucking?" I hear my voice rising in disbelief. 

“Fucking?” Brian growled.

“They were both naked, so I just figured, you know…” I shrug, smiling in glee as I collect a couple of dish towels from the kitchen. Brian’s obviously pissed that his sometime boy toy was fucking this Quinton dude. “Quinton?” I ask again.

"Quinton Jamison. Justin and I hooked up with him about a month ago when we were in New York... You know what? Never mind,” Brian cuts off his less than satisfactory explanation. “Grab those towels; I hear the ambulance coming. I’ve gotta get dressed." 

I sidle over to the Boy Wonder, who still hasn't moved, and stare down at him. I can't quite make myself touch him. He shouldn't have been fucking in Brian's loft. He shouldn't have been having sex with someone in Brian's loft when Brian was in the bathroom. That's just not right. 

“Change out the towel,” Brian orders, getting up and racing off to the bedroom. 

I don’t budge. All I can think as I stand there gaping in horror is, A repeat? They fucked the guy once before? What happened to your no-repeat rule, Brian Kinney? It doesn’t matter, I console myself. Quinton is history, and Brian will dump the blond’s fat ass soon as he wakes up. I can’t wait. 

Sirens are wailing outside the building, and I hear loud voices and the sound of people clambering up the stairs. Brian dashes out of the bedroom at that moment, yelling at me again. "Christ Mikey! Quit standing there! I told you to try and staunch the blood! Give me those towels; I'll do it myself," he demands, roughly yanking them out of my hands. 

“Well, who knows what he might have? I wasn’t touching his blood!” 

“You’re more worried about Justin’s blood than Ben’s?” Brian questions incredulously. “At least do _something_ useful, Mikey. Open the fucking door, so the EMTs can get in here."

When Brian kneels down to attend to the twink on the floor, I meander over to the door and slide it open, just as an EMT raises his fist to knock. The idiot almost whacks me in the nose.

"Where’s the injured man?” he asks, not even bothering to apologize for what he almost did.

"Over here!" Brian yells out, as the first responder quickly crosses the open space, one of his colleagues right on his heels. They kneel down next to Justin, nudging Brian out of the way.

"I'm not sure what happened,” Brian explains. “When I got out of the shower, Justin was lying on the floor like this. I tried to stem the flow of blood, but that’s it.”

While the first EMT holds a compress against the still seeping wound, his colleague wraps a cloth around Justin’s head to keep it in place. “We’ll put a neck brace on your friend, move him onto a stretcher, and then transport him to the hospital,” the first man assures Brian, his tone both confident and soothing.

“He's had a previous head-injury,” Brian informs them, “so you might want to call ahead to Dr. Nakajima, his neurosurgeon. I’m just gonna get my wallet so I can come with you guys. He also has a list of allergies a mile long; the list is in my wallet."

As Brian rushes off to the bedroom again, he rattles off more instructions for me. "Mikey, grab my keys... they're on the counter. Did you call the cops?”

“There wasn’t time,” I excuse my inaction.

“Then call them now!” Brian shouts. “Tell them to meet me at the hospital pronto, so I can fill them in about Quinton. They need to track that bastard down and arrest him.”

I don’t move to pull out my cell phone. I’m in no hurry for the police to talk to Brian.

Brian continues issuing orders as he comes back down the steps, wallet in hand, his gaze on the two medical technicians, who are lifting Justin onto a stretcher. “Then call Jennifer and tell her to meet me at the hospital. Finally, call your mom and pick her up on the way, as she will want to be there too.”

I still haven’t moved when Brian glances over at me. He immediately berates me, “What the fuck is wrong with you? MOVE, Mikey!"

I reluctantly grab the keys off the counter, take my cell phone out of my pocket, and start with the calls. As I'm heading out of the loft, I hear Brian yelling for me to also call Emmett and something about Ted and some documents. All I can think is that I'm really glad there is no way for them to find out it was me. If they catch this Quinton guy, it will be his word against mine. And who would believe a trick over me? Michael Charles Novotny. Friend extraordinaire.

**BRIAN:**

As they are putting Justin on the backboard and getting him ready for transport, I have to close my eyes and concentrate on breathing evenly. The scene is eerily reminiscent of Justin’s prom, his head again swathed in white, blood staining the bandages. 

Dashing into the bedroom once more, I grab a t-shirt, sweatpants, and a robe - Justin will want something besides that horrid hospital gown to wear - and cram everything into my gym bag before returning to the living room.

I'm surprised I don’t get any flack from the EMTs about crawling into the ambulance with them. There's no way I’ll be left behind; just let them try and stop me. I get situated and grab Justin's hand, which already feels cool to my touch. 

As we're weaving through traffic, memories of another time, another situation, start looping through my mind, when I hear, "What happened, Kinney?"

"Wh... what, you know me?"

"Of course, Kinney. I think we all do," the guy says with an amused chuckle.

I look closer, amazed when I realize the curly-haired blond is someone I’ve only ever seen in the backroom at Babylon. If I hadn’t walked through the club after hours when it was totally empty, I’d suspect he bunked there. "Todd? Is that you?" 

"Yeah, it’s me. Listen, I need to know what happened and also about Justin’s allergies - you said there are a bunch, right?”

"I'm not sure what all happened,” I repeat what I said earlier. “Justin and I had company, and I excused myself to take a quick shower. I was gone all of seven minutes, tops, but when I came back out, our visitor had vanished, Justin was on the ground, and Mikey was just standing there, shell-shocked.” 

As I’m relaying what little I know, I extract a copy of the list from my wallet and hand it to Babylon’s most popular bottom. Well, okay, Emmett would have given Todd a run for his money at one time, but since Drew returned to the Pitts, he’s become a one-man guy. “You can keep that,” I inform him. “A few medications have been added to the list since Justin was last at the hospital,” I clarify, “but all the other items should be in his patient record.”

Todd whistles as he peruses the list, and I can’t help but chuckle.

“Yeah,” I acknowledge, “there aren’t very many people who are allergic to Tylenol, never mind just about every other damned thing on the planet. Justin’s allergic to everything from medications to pollen to animal dander to mold… you name it; he’s allergic.”

“Latex?” Todd jokingly inquires. He knows that’s unlikely to be the case since he’s seen me and Justin in action countless times over the years.

“Thank fuck, no,” I reply, chuckling. 

Todd’s colleague, who must have heard our exchange about Justin’s allergies, laughs with us as he flips his cell phone closed. He smiles at me, relating, “I just spoke with one of the nurses in the ER. She said Dr. Nakajima is already on his way to the hospital.”

"Kinney, this is my partner, Scott,” Todd introduces the other EMT. “Scott, Kinney."

"Call me Brian,” I request, shaking the outstretched hand. “That goes for you too, Todd. How far out are we?"

"ETA is one minute. Hang on, Kin... Brian; he'll be okay. Try not to worry."

We arrive in what probably _is_ less than one minute, although it seems more like an hour. I jump out of the ambulance and run alongside the stretcher, unwilling to let go of Justin’s hand. But then a firm hand to my chest halts my progress. I stare anxiously after Justin as he’s wheeled through a pair of swinging doors. 

“Medical personnel only past this point,” a gray-haired nurse informs me kindly but firmly. “Please have a seat in the waiting room, sir.”

Waiting rooms. I HATE waiting rooms. There’s no way I can sit still, so I start pacing. I’m only on my second lap around the room when I hear Deb, although I can’t see her yet. I close my eyes, bracing myself for a shitstorm.

I don’t have long to wait before Debbie’s bursting into the waiting room with Jennifer right behind her. 

Justin’s mother throws rapid-fire questions at me. “Brian! What’s going on? What's wrong with Justin? What happened?" 

Debbie’s red curls bounce wildly, as she speaks over Jennifer. “What in the heck was Michael going on about, kiddo? Someone attacked Justin _in your loft_?” Her voice rises in pitch until she’s screeching.

“Seriously?” I grunt, giving Deb a pointed look. “I’m sure Michael gave you a play-by-play account.” Heck, she probably knows more than I do at this point. Michael was hardly forthcoming at the loft, probably because he was in a state of shock.

“Yeah,” the redhead allows, chortling, “I only had to whack him upside the head once.” 

“Wait, what do you mean,” Jennifer demands. “Someone _attacked_ Justin? Just what happened to him... _in your home_, Brian?"

"Jennifer, now's not the time, okay?” I really don’t want to divulge the salacious details to Justin’s mom. I wouldn’t have hesitated in the past but, well, she’s _Mother Taylor_ now. “It wasn’t that kind of attack. Apparently, an altercation with a visitor got out of hand. Justin was pushed, fell, and hit his head on the coffee table. I know who the guy is. We just need to find him."

"You better know how to find him, Brian. So help me,” Deb shrieks, “if I get my hands on the monster, I'll personally string him up! He better hope to God that Sunshine pulls out of this and is okay."

I’m gonna lose my hearing for sure if Deb doesn’t lower it a decibel or two. Making a mental note to get myself checked for bleeding eardrums before I leave the hospital, I request, "Listen, I really don’t want to get into this right now. So can we just wait until the doctor comes out? Please?"

As I hoped, Debbie’s militant stance eases and her voice softens. “Of course, kiddo. Just so you know, I called Carl on the way over here. I want to be sure he shows up and not some green-behind-the-ears rookie. We want someone who _cares_!"

I can always count on Debbie when the chips are down. "Thanks, Deb. I'm glad you're here. Please keep Jen company, okay? Try to keep her calm."

She reaches up and pats my cheek. "Sure thing, kiddo. Don’t you worry either, you hear? Sunshine will be okay; he’s a fighter."

Emmett and Ted come flying in right then, Michael lagging behind them. I surmise that the three amigos must have met up in the parking lot after Mikey dropped off Deb and Jen at the entrance to the ER. 

Emmett’s eyes are red, and he’s holding a large, neon orange hankie. He buries his nose in the fugly, oversized handkerchief, and we’re all treated to a loud honk.

“Sorry,” the normally cheerful queen apologizes. “I’m just worried about Baby.”

Chuckling, I wave off his apology, glad for a moment of levity.

Ted outstretches a packet of papers to me.

"What are those, Brian?" Mikey asks, still hanging back from the rest of us. His eyes are darting around, and his arms are drawn in close to his body, as if he’s afraid of germs jumping on him or something.

When did he become so squeamish? I wonder, puzzled again by his behavior. "POA and insurance papers,” I reply curtly.

"What do you mean, POA? Don’t you just need the card for whatever crappy health insurance Justin has?”

"No, Michael," Ted responds, frowning at his friend. "Justin has health insurance through Kinnetik. The hospital needs a copy of those documents and also of Justin’s medical POA. Brian’s his designee and vice versa."

"WHAT? No, _he's _not. I am! Brian and I have been each other’s POA for a long time."

"Michael, what are you talking about?” I ask incredulously. “Surely you’ve changed your POA to Ben. I made Justin mine as soon as he got back from Hollywood, and we signed domestic partnership papers."

"You did WHAT? Have you lost your mind, Brian? You’d better try and get out of that... or he’s going to ruin you when he walks out again!"

I stare at my oldest friend, flabbergasted, when there’s a welcome interruption. "Excuse me. Brian, how's Justin? What's going on?"

"Carl,” I greet the detective, who’s now a lieutenant with the PBP. “Thank you for coming down personally. We haven't heard anything about Justin’s condition yet. The waiting is driving me nuts. Certain people are too," I say, narrowing my eyes at Michael.

Emmett smartly decides it would be a good idea to remove Michael from my line of view, leading him over to a chair on the other side of the room.

Carl removes his trusty notebook from his jacket pocket and waits for me to relay the events of the day. “Why don’t you tell me what happened at the loft?”

I begin to relate the story for the third time, politely censoring it. "Justin and I were entertaining a guest. He is actually a client we just signed..."

"Jamison Security, Bri? Quinton Jamison?" Ted interrupts, sounding a little in disbelief. "He doesn’t seem to me like the type to be easily provoked into an argument."

"Yes. Quinton Jamison. He's out of New York. We met him about a month ago when we were in Manhattan for the weekend. Shortly after that, he contacted us about having Kinnetik do some advertising for his company. He came down, and we talked about costs and projections. He even offered to install one of his new products, a hidden camera that looks like a USB wall charger, in the loft so we could test it out - see if it lives up to the hype.”

"You actually had one installed? What did that set you back, Bri?" Ted, ever the accountant, just has to ask.

“Yeah, that’s why he was at the loft today.” I leave out the other reason for his visit. "Quinton provided the camera and installed it free of charge; there will just be a monthly maintenance fee."

"Gentlemen, can we get back on track?” Carl requests dryly. “Do you know where I can find this... Mr. Jamison?" 

"He’s actually staying at the Fairmont in one of the Kinnetik suites. On our dime," Ted reveals.

"Good. We’ll check whether he’s still there,” the portly detective promises us. “But first I need some more information. Any other details about this Jamison fellow would be helpful, as well as exactly what happened at the loft.”

"Quinton’s someone Justin and I hooked up with at a club while we were in New York,” I explain, after checking where everyone is; I especially don’t want Jennifer to overhear. Fortunately, she and Deb are over by the window, Debbie’s arm around the blonde, soothingly rubbing up and down. A pouting Mikey is on the opposite side of the room, ignoring Emmett’s efforts to engage him in conversation.

“We all had a good time together,” I continue, “and we got to talking as we were, er...”

“Recovering?” Ted helpfully inserts.

“Yeah, that.” I nod at Theodore in thanks for his timely assistance. “Quinton mentioned he’d inherited a security business from his grandfather and was in the process of modernizing it, so I gave him one of my business cards and told him to give me a call if he was interested in having Kinnetik represent him.”

“He took you up on the offer, I take it?” Carl inquires.

“He did. When he got here yesterday, we discussed the details of what he’d like done. Then Quinton asked if we’d like to test the newest camera model.”

“It’s really cool,” Ted eagerly interjects. “It looks like one of those small cubes that go into a wall outlet that you’d plug your USB cable into. The camera lens, which you can’t even see, rotates so that you get almost a three hundred sixty degree view.”

I grin at my friend’s enthusiasm. Except for finances, Ted usually only gets this excited about the opera and Blake.

“Jamison and I arrived at the loft this afternoon,” I pick up the tale, “and the three of us chatted for a while, Justin and I watching him while he set up the security camera. Then I excused myself to shower, with the understanding that Justin and Quinton would start without me, and that I’d join them in short order. When I came out maybe seven minutes later, Justin was on the floor..." I close my eyes and try to get my bearings. "There was blood... so much blood. Jamison was gone. Mikey was just standing there, totally freaking out. I asked him what happened. He said they were arguing when he came in. Jamison shoved Justin and stormed out. I have no idea what they could have argued about. I mean, they were ready to start when I went in to take a shower."

"Start what, exactly?" Carl asks.

Christ, how can he be this clueless after living with Deb - and Emmett, for fuck’s sake? At the very least, he has to know Justin and I fuck around. We’ve never made a secret of it. I wish Debbie wasn’t busy with Jennifer so she could explain it to her mystified boyfriend. Giving up on my attempt to keep it clean, I huff, “If you want it blunt, Carl, we were going to fuck. Clear enough?”

"So, a crime of passion, is that what you're saying, Kinney?" 

Good God! He still looks confused. Ted is coughing up a storm in an effort to disguise a bout of laughter, which means I’m stuck elaborating further. "No, Carl. _Not_ a crime of passion. I don't know what the fuck it was, and I won’t until you cuff the fucker, book him, and get some answers.”

"Well,” Carl slowly slips his pencil into the spiral binding of his notebook and pockets it, “I'm headed over to the Fairmont to see if I can track down Jamison. Good luck, boys. I'm going to say hi to Deb before I leave. I'll be in touch.” He saunters over to where Debbie is sitting with that old-man swagger of his. Too many years on the force and too many donuts, in my opinion.

“Where the fuck is that doctor!" I blurt out, aggravated and worried that there’s still no news about Justin.

Half an hour later, we see Dr. Nakajima approaching, and everybody clusters around him. Jennifer reaches over and tightly clenches my right hand, while Debbie grips my left.

"Justin lost a lot of blood,” the neurosurgeon informs us. “We gave him a couple of transfusions and stitched up his head. The prognosis is good but, because of the head trauma, I'm going to keep him in a medically induced coma overnight. That will give him time to heal before he wakes up and has to deal with being attacked a second time - provided he even remembers it. So, you can all go home, get some rest, and come back in the morning."

"I'm staying," Jennifer states abruptly, brooking no argument. “Can I sit with him in his room?”

Nakajima nods. “That won’t be a problem. I’ll ask the nursing staff to provide you with his room number once he’s been moved there from surgery. No more than two visitors at a time, though,” he cautions us, “until he wakes up and I’ve examined him.”

"Great! That's settled,” Mikey butts in before anyone else can speak up. “Brian, I want you to go to Babylon with me tonight. Ben's going to be at the university till way late, so we can share some best friend time." 

I may have been irritated with him before, but now I feel like repeating that punch from a few years ago.

"No can do, Mikey. I'm not leaving. I need to be here in case Justin wakes up."

"But, Briiaann..."

WHACK!

"Christ, Ma! What the hell was that for?" Mikey's rubs the back of his head.

"Don't you take that tone with me!” Deb chastises her son, standing toe to toe with him, and wagging a scarlet fingernail in front of his eyes. “How on earth did you get the notion in your head that Brian would want to go to Babylon when Sunshine is in the hospital? Michael, I can't believe you suggested that!"

"Why not? He needs to go out. A few trips to the backroom will take care of the stress caused by one of Justin's tricks putting him in the hospital."

"What did you say?" an indignant Jennifer asks.

“I'm staying with Justin, Michael,” I grit out fuming. “I'm not going to Babylon. Emmet, would you do me a favor and get Mikey out of here,” I plead, turning my head away from Michael.

As usual, Mikey ignores anything he doesn’t want to hear. “That’s right, Mrs. Taylor,” he gleefully reveals. “Justin was fucking some...”

Emmett clamps his hand over Michael's mouth, cutting him off, and begins towing his short friend toward the door.

"Emmett, thanks for the pest control,” I tell him, not looking at my supposed best friend. “I’ll let Justin know you were here, and we’ll see you tomorrow.”

"No worries, Brian.” Em flashes his gap-toothed smile at me. “I plan to cook that boy a huge breakfast in the morning with all his faves. So tell my Baby 'no hospital food'. Auntie Em will be here around eight."

Tongue in cheek, I quip, “Just remember to keep your hands off _my_ Sunshine, Honeycutt.”

Emmett and Theodore both burst out laughing, while Michael scowls, clearly annoyed by the lighthearted teasing about Justin. 

“In your dreams, Kinney,” the nelly queen retorts, winking at me before urging, “Now, come along, Michael.” When Mikey doesn’t cooperate, flailing around with his arms and attempting to dig his heels into the linoleum, Emmett glances over at Theodore. “A little help, Teddy?"

“Sure. Bri, all the papers you need are there. Let me know if you need anything else.”

“I better get down there too, if I'm going to catch a ride with the boys,” Debbie declares. “Brian, honey, I told you Sunshine would be okay. And don't worry. Carl will get that bastard, and we'll make sure he fries. This won't be another Hobbs’ situation." With that, she kisses me on the cheek, haphazardly swiping at the lipstick that now decorates my face, and breezes out after the boys.

I'm left standing there with Jen, and I really don't know what to say. So I opt for, "You can go ahead and sit with Justin and I’ll be there shortly. I have a couple of phone calls to make. Is Molly going to be okay by herself?"

"Brian, I won't even pretend to understand what's going on, but have you figured out how Justin's hospital bills will be paid? And maybe it would be best if..."

"_Don’t_ even go there! I'm staying.” I lay into Jen, the way I wanted to after the bashing. “You kicked me out the last time, and if you start in on me again, you will be the one out in the cold. I have Justin's POA and he's also listed under Kinnetik's insurance, so _you_ don’t need to concern yourself with the hospital fees. Besides, I’d pay them out of pocket if necessary. Now,” I take a deep breath and finish more calmly, “Now what about Molly?"

"Molly will be fine. I need to be with Justin right now."

"I understand that, but he's going to be under all night. Why don’t you stay for a while, then go home and be with your daughter? It's what Justin would want." And with that, I leave. I really need a cigarette to calm myself. This whole mess is starting to overwhelm me. I can’t figure out what could have happened in those few minutes to make Jamison attack Justin. I just can't wrap my head around it.

After two cigarettes and a phone call to Cynthia, I’m heading back inside when my phone rings. Deciding I better take it, I stop just outside the door, leaning against the sun-warmed brick. 

I'm floored by what I hear, my disbelief undoubtedly evident in my voice.

<><><>

Early the next morning, I leave the hospital and head to the police station. Justin isn’t expected to come out of his medically induced coma before seven-thirty, so there should be enough time for me to give my statement and return before he wakes up.

When I check with the desk sergeant, I'm directed to a conference room and, upon walking in, I see Carl, another officer, and Michael.

"Good, you're here, Mr. Kinney,” Horvath greets me. “Please have a seat. This is Detective Burns. Let’s get started. The statements will be tape-recorded so we will have them for later reference. Any objections?”

“Whatever,” Michael mutters, shrugging indifferently.

I shake my head, hiding my satisfaction that he’s about to get caught out. He won’t be that confident much longer.

“Mr. Novotny, why don’t you start?" Carl requests.

"I don't have much to tell you. I went into Brian's loft..."

"How did you get in?" Detective Burns interrupts.

"Well, duh, I have a key.” Michael rolls his eyes. “How do you think I got in?"

His voice even, Carl asks, "Do you make a habit of entering Mr. Kinney’s residence without knocking first?"

"Brian's my best friend. I don't have to knock; that's why he gave me a key."

“Can I jump in?" At Carl's nod, I address Michael. "When I gave you that key, what did I say? Did I say 'come over and enter at will'?”

Michael’s brow furrows in confusion. “Huh?”

“Think before answering,” I chide. “It shouldn't be that difficult to remember since we had this conversation less than two months ago, after I threatened to have the locks changed.”

"Why are you being such a jerk, Brian? So you said ‘for emergencies’ - so what? You're my best friend. I should be able to come and go whenever I want."

“Was there an emergency?”

“No, I just wanted you to go to Woody’s and Babylon because Ben was working late.”

"Do I walk into your house whenever I feel like it?" Not that I’ve ever wanted to do that, but I’m trying to find a way to get through to Michael. Simple concepts work best with him.

"No, that's different, because I'm in a relationship. I have a _partner_. You just have a fuck toy. Besides, it's a good thing I came in when I did, since I stopped the _Boy Wonder_,” Michael sneers the words, “from getting hurt worse. I was even able to describe the guy who pushed your blond boy toy." Michael turns to Carl and challenges, “So have you managed to catch him yet?”

As if on cue, the door opens and a new member joins our little group, which has Michael jumping out of his seat, yelling and pointing, "That's him! That's him! Arrest him! That's the guy from Brian's loft!"

"If Detective Horvath will allow me to make the introductions…” I glance at Carl, who gives me a shark-like grin and nods. “Michael, I'd like you to meet Quinton Jamison. Quinton, I believe you've met Michael, or at least, courtesy of him, you had the pleasure of your shoe buckle hitting your head and leaving a pretty good bump there. In case you are wondering, Michael, Mr. Jamison is a new client Justin and I just signed. He was at our loft..."

"What do you mean, you and _Justin_ just signed?!” Michael screeches. “Justin isn't part of Kinnetik; that's your baby! So quit saying that!"

"I hate to break it to you - again - but Justin and I share everything. He's part-owner of Kinnetik; he's on the lease at the loft..."

"WHAT?! What happens when he meets another fiddler and leaves you? He'll take you for everything! How could you be so stupid?” Michael rants, pounding his fists on the table. “Is his ass so tight that you've not only lost your dick up there, but your mind, too? Jesus!"

"Mr. Novotny. I'll only warn you once,” Detective Burns admonishes sternly. “This is a police investigation and you are expected to maintain your decorum." 

"Whatever,” Michael replies.

I snort. That’s Michael’s stock answer whenever he doesn’t get the message.

“You should have my best friend see a shrink after this,” he continues, “since he's clearly lost his mind."

"Try to focus, Michael” I dryly recommend. "I know you’ll be interested in this. Mr. Jamison has developed a new device that Kinnetik is going to be advertising for him.”

Michael gives me a ‘what the fuck’ squint.

I gesture at my new client. “Quinton, the floor is yours."

Jamison holds up a small, black plug. "Do you know what this is, Mr. Novotny?"

"Sure, it's one of those UPS thingamajigs." He has such a sneer in his voice, it's all I can do to not laugh. If he only knew...

"You could refer to it as a _USB_ thingamajig but, in reality, it’s a new home security product. Although it's so covert that no one would ever expect it to be anything other than a _USB_ wall charger. It's actually a hidden camera with features such as night vision and two-way audio."

"Why would I care about all that?" Michael shoves his chair away from the table and starts to stand up. “I’m outta here.”

“Sit back down, Mr. Novotny,” Carl orders. “We’re not finished yet.”

A sulky expression on his face, Michael complies.

"Maybe I can answer that one,” I offer. “You see, Michael, Quinton was at our loft yesterday and had just installed one of those ‘thingamajigs’ right before I excused myself to take a shower. Quinton, Justin, and I had plans to spend the evening together. So, to clear up your confusion, let me just say, 'Smile, you’re on Candid Camera, Mikey'!" 

He sits there for a few more seconds before realization sets in, and then sputters, "But, but, but..."

"And now, for the finale, Mr. Jamison is going to give a demonstration of how the ‘thingamajig’ works."

Quinton goes over to the laptop sitting on the corner of the table and plugs in the camera. Except for Mikey, we’re all horrified by the verbal diarrhea that comes out of Michael’s mouth as he attacks Justin and then turns on Quinton.

"Why, Brian?” Michael shrieks as the video ends. “Why do let him stay when he fucks around on you like that? Why haven’t you kicked him to the curb?"

"Michael, Justin doesn't fuck around on me,” I reply wearily. Michael has never listened when I’ve explained this to him. “As a matter of fact, the only time we trick anymore is if we do it together. Why do you think I was coming naked out of the shower? It certainly wasn't to welcome you."

"But, why him? What's so great about him?"

"Michael, if you had ever taken the time to really get to know Justin, you would see what the rest of us see. Justin is a smart, funny, sexy man. And he's so talented. Despite the fact that a homophobic asshole tried to take that away for him, Justin still has more talent in his little finger than most artists, without any kind of disability, have after they complete four years of college."

"He's not that smart!” Michael persists, his face flushed with anger. “Geez! He didn't even manage to stay in college!"

"Michael, listen to yourself. Just so you know, Justin’s currently taking courses two nights a week and will finish his degree soon. It’s not the degree that makes him smart, though. In case you aren’t aware, back in high school, Justin scored 1500 on his SAT. High School, Michael. Do you remember what you scored?"

_Mumble._

“Speak up, would you, Mr. Novotny?” Detective Burns requests. “I didn’t catch that.”

"Fine! You know what I scored, Brian! An 890. You happy now?!"

"Yeah, _I’m_ happy. What I want to know is, why aren't _you_? Ben is a great guy. He has never cared that you barely made it through high school. Why are you always sticking your nose into my business instead of concentrating on Ben and Hunter?"

"Because you _are_ my business! You're my best friend! The only reason I ever went out with Ben was to make you jealous! I thought if you saw me with a hunky guy like that, you’d finally realize that you wanted me for yourself, and we’d have the relationship we were always meant to have. Always have, always will."

“Christ, Michael. Are you still stuck on making that mean more than it does? I was never interested in you sexually. _Always have, always will,_ was me telling you that you will _always_ be my brother. That you have _always _been my brother.”

"But, you were giving me a handjob when Ma walked in!"

"We were _fourteen_, Michael,” I explain for the last time. “You were the first boy I ever told I was gay. We got caught up in a Patrick Swayze moment. It wasn't about sex, Michael. It was never about sex. If that was the case, don't you think we would have revisited the handjob at some point? I need someone who connects with me intellectually as well as having a great body and a killer smile. And that someone is Justin. I'm sorry you got caught up in your fantasies. Because that's all they are. All they will ever be. On that note, I want to let you know that Justin and I will be pressing charges, starting with breaking and entering, and ending with assault. Have a good life, and don't drop the soap where you're going. Goodbye, Michael." I get up and walk to the door, hearing Michael screeching behind me.

"Brian, Brian, BRIAN... don't leave! Don't leave me here. Don't go back to that little whore! I'm your best friend! You owe me!"

That’s followed by Carl’s deep rumble. “Mr. Novotny, you’re under arrest.” 

He’s reading Michael his rights when I stop short after opening the door. Deb is standing there with tears streaming down her cheeks. "Deb, what... what are you doing here?"

"Carl told me what happened. I didn't want to believe it. So Carl told me I could watch the interview today if I wanted to. I'm so sorry, Brian. I'm so sorry.”

"Come here." I open my arms, and the mother of my heart hugs me, sobs wracking her body.

"Hey, it’ll be okay. I'm sorry too, Deb. I'm sorry we didn't see this sooner.” I pat her on the back, trying to console her. “Carl told me Mikey will have to do some time for this, but I plan to talk to the DA before he’s sentenced and see whether he’ll recommend that Mikey get psychiatric treatment. Now, buck up. You’re made of stronger stuff than this. Why don't you come with me to the hospital? I know Sunshine is probably lonely, and wanting to get sprung from the joint, but if the doctor won't let him, I'm sure he would love some mothering. So, come on. Come with me to the hospital." I grin to myself, thinking that one of Deb’s infamous hugs is probably the last thing my partner wants. I’ll owe him for putting up with it, and I’m already looking forward to...

"Justin will probably be mad at me about Michael..." Deb interrupts my fantasies of how my partner will make me pay up.

"Nonsense. It's Michael's fault, not yours. Now, come on." I put my arm around my Ma's shoulders and lead her out of the police station. 

When we get to the Vette, she looks warily at me. "You expect me to get into that?”

"Sure, a young, hip thing like yourself belongs in a Vette. Maybe you’ll catch the eye of a few more men riding around in this!"

"Brian Kinney! Carl is more than enough man for me. If you could watch us rock the mattress..."

"Stop right there, Deb,” I protest, “or I’ll never get hard again. You and Carl - what a boner-killer."

We’re both laughing as I help her into the car, reaching around to fasten the seat belt. With a “Hold on tight,” I pull out onto the highway, my tires squealing. I take a detour on the way to the hospital so I can open up my baby, and give Deb quite the ride.

<><><>

Michael is found guilty of all charges and is ordered into treatment. When that ends, he’ll spend one year in jail. Some pretty awful things are revealed in court, which leads to Ben divorcing him. Ben was already pretty unhappy when he found out the circumstances of Michael's arrest, but Michael still couldn’t stem the diarrhea during his testimony. Even though his attorney requested that it be struck from the record, Ben still heard every word. He ends up taking a position at Colorado State University, where Hunter has been accepted and will be studying accounting. It turns out the kid is a whiz when it comes to anything to do with numbers. Theodore is so proud, he can’t stop beaming.

Of course, none of that has happened yet when Deb and I walk into Justin’s hospital room after our little jaunt in the Vette, Deb looking a little worse for the wear. Justin is sitting up in bed, regaling Emmett with stories about the goings-on in the art department (which had better not be true), while chowing down on the food Em brought him (business as usual). But when he hears the door open, he turns and flashes that brilliant smile at Deb and me, and I’m once again reminded why Deb named him Sunshine.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, that's it, folks! Thanks for reading! I hope it didn't get too sappy.


End file.
